


Two of a Kind

by tenaya



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1994-06-01
Updated: 1994-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenaya/pseuds/tenaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jed Curry, broke and desperate, meets up with someone that will change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two of a Kind

# TWO OF A KIND

  


## by Tenaya

Jed Curry figured he was too young to be feeling as depressed as this. Here he was, a month shy of turning 21 years old and he had only 17 cents to his name.

"Not even a penny for each year," he said disgustedly.

"What was that?" shouted the barkeeper, his voice raised to be heard above the din of a typical Saturday night in a small Wyoming cattle town.

Curry picked out a nickle and tossed it over. "A beer. Give me a beer," he ordered, putting the few remaining coins back in his trouser pocket.

The bartender slid his drink over to him and promptly forgot the young drifter as his next customer demanded attention. Curry picked up his brew and turned. Leaning against the bar, he considered his options as he surveyed the room and sipped his beer.

Twelve cents wasn't enough for a meal, or even to stable his horse for the night. The poor animal was tied up to the railing outside the saloon, unsheltered in the biting cold of a moonlit November night. Twelve cents wouldn't buy a room for himself either, so he'd be right out there with the horse when his money ran out.

He looked longingly at the three poker games in progress and wished he was a better player. Gambling at cards was an easy way to pick up money — except he always seemed to lose. But his poker playing abilities didn't matter tonight since he couldn't get into a game; twelve cents would only get him laughed at.

Jed looked closer at the stacks of money in front of the various players. Only at one table was there enough cash to draw his interest with no less than three players with one to two hundred dollars of cash in front of them. He sidled around to an out of the way chair where he could watch the action and the players. Two hundred dollars would be enough to keep him and his horse till spring, and the thought of that much cash sorely tempted him. He took a small sip of beer, knowing he'd have to make it last while he waited for one of the well–flushed players to step outside alone — where Curry could quietly make a transfer of funds.

Sitting close against the wall, he considered his situation. The occupation of robbery was new to Jed. Actually, he didn't mind working odd jobs for money, even ones that were hard or dangerous. Trouble was, there was a depression on and finding work wasn't that easy. Too many hungry drifters like himself made the competition for the few remaining jobs pretty stiff. He found he wasn't really comfortable robbing folks, though he was gradually getting used to it. He mollified his conscience by at least picking people that wouldn't suffer too much hardship from the loss. Skilled poker players were high on his list of good targets, as they could easily recoup the losses.

Jed did have one unique skill and that was his ability with his gun. He had a fast draw that was almost unnatural and an accuracy with the weapon that was unmatched by anyone he'd yet met. He would sometimes earn money by making bets he could shoot a tin can tossed in the air three times before it fell to the ground. Trouble was that lately men were seeking him out and trying to challenge him to a gun fight. Curry hadn't killed anyone yet and didn't want to start over something as stupid as to who was faster. So, he didn't show off his prowess much anymore — except to the unlucky men he picked to rob.

He was on his third and last beer when he heard a loud, angry voice at the high stakes poker table. Most of the cash was now divided between two players, a middle aged man that could be a drummer and a dark–haired fellow who couldn't be much older than Curry, though he was better dressed. Another player, about thirtyish, probably a rancher by his outfit, was the one causing the trouble. He had lost maybe 60–70 dollars and wasn't taking it well. The man had been drinking heavily as he lost, becoming meaner and more paranoid with the passing hours.

"Well somebody here _is_ cheating!" the rancher growled as he pushed back from the table.

The saloon quieted as most heads turned to watch the disturbance. Curiosity wasn't the only reason why folks were interested: if some drunken fool was going to start firing his gun, it was in your own best interest to know about it in advance so you'd know where to duck.

An older man, also a rancher by the look of him spoke, his voice low but stern. "Ain't nobody here cheating, Rob Jennings. You've just been playing lousy poker tonight."

"I ain't seen these two around town before," the poor loser said, gesturing at the two winning players. "and I think they're cheatin', Bill!"

One of the accused, the young, dark–haired fellow looked slowly at the other players. "Does anyone else at this table think someone's cheating?" he asked, his voice steady. He was fairly well–dressed in dark corduroys and looked like he was used to having extra cash.

There was a scattering of muttered "no's" and shaking heads.

Jennings staggered to his feet. "This ain't ending here," he threatened. "You can't steal my money and get away with it," he said angrily as he pushed his way past the other customers and went out the saloon doors.

From his vantage point, Curry noticed a couple of young cow pokes look concerned. They downed their drinks and hurry after Jennings.

The drummer was worried. "What's he mean by that?"

Bill shook his head. "He just blowing off steam. It's the liquor talkin'. He gets this way every Saturday night, but he's a good man the rest of the week."

The drummer looked doubtful. As a salesman, he had a well–developed ability to judge a man's mood and he had not liked what he just saw. He started to gather up his winnings. "Well, I think I'll call it a night in any case. It's getting late."

Instead of protests, it was a decision that was echoed around the table. The accusation had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. The men got up and meandered in different directions as the bar returned to its prior noise level.

Curry kept his eye on his two possible targets. The drummer got to his feet and headed up the staircase. Curry frowned; the man must have booked a room here and that would make it difficult to rob him. He switched his attention to the dark–haired winner.

The young man stuffed his winnings in an inside pocket and weaved through the crowd to the bar, ending up beside the rancher who had denied Jennings accusations. If Curry concentrated, he could just make out their voices.

The gambler ordered a whiskey, turned and casually asked the rancher. "Is the sheriff in town tonight?"

The rancher tossed down his whiskey in one swallow and grimaced as the liquor burnt its way down his throat. "Naw, but don't let that worry you. Jennings is just blowing off steam. He's got a small spread that ain't doing too well, and it does less well every Saturday night. Besides, there's always a deputy or two about."

The young gambler stared thoughtfully out the front entrance, then swept his glance carefully around the room. Curry was surprised when the intent, dark eyes made contact with his. Casually, he looked away, but he was disconcerted. This fellow was wary; that would make him more difficult to rob.

* * * * *

Hannibal Heyes was uneasy. His sixth sense was warning him that no good would come from the confrontation he had just witnessed. He knew he should make himself scarce, and get out of this town was the best option, if possible. He figured that his main danger was the drunken rancher and his best move was to stay in the saloon until the man had time to either lose interest, fall asleep or go home. Trouble was, the little itch that warned him of danger was getting stronger instead of weaker.

Being a cautious man, he surveyed the bar's interior, taking in the sight of assorted cowhands, ranchers, gamblers and bar girls. Unexpectedly there by the wall, he caught the eye of a young drifter staring at him. The man shifted his gaze with a nonchalance that was at odds with the interest that had caught Heyes attention in the first place. Heyes grew more worried and uncertain. Maybe this was this fellow that meant him no good.

He leaned against the solid, hardwood bar and quickly refigured his options. His main concern was the law. If the drunken rancher did go for a deputy, it wouldn't go good for Heyes if he was questioned. Odds were he'd get recognized. He had been outlawing for a couple of years now, lately running with the Devil's Hole boys. The price on his head had recently gone up to $800. That he knew because that idiot Wheat had torn his flyer from a mail car's wall during the last train robbery. He had waved it in front of Heyes until Heyes got tired of the teasing and grabbed it away from Wheat, angrily folding it and stuffing the paper in his pocket. No, the last thing Heyes wanted was to be confronted by the law about possibly cheatin' a local boy at poker.

As much as he hated to admit it, his best bet was to leave now. He should go to the stable, get his horse and be halfway to the next town by sun–up. It might take him to noon to thaw out after a long ride through the frozen wastes, but he comforted himself with the thought of buying a hot bath at the next hotel. He could afford these luxuries now, thanks to his share of the robbery and his winnings at poker. He smiled because even though he was about to take a long ride into a cold night, he felt confident: Lady Luck had been gracing him with her presence and he just knew his winning streak was still good.

Carefully, he slowly meandered along the length of the bar, watching the drifter out of the corner of his eye. When a commotion over a bar girl drew attention, he quietly slipped along the back hallway and out of the building.

The cold hit him immediately, sneaking into his clothes where they weren't closed tightly. Icy air bit at his exposed skin and his breath frosted up into his own personal fog as he paused to slip on his gloves. Pulling up his coat collar, he hurried through the dark alley. He turned onto the street and right into a waiting gun.

* * * * *

Curry chuckled to himself, bemused at the clumsy fight two drunks had gotten into over a girl. Technically, it was a fist fight, but the combatants hadn't been able to land a blow on each other. They had flailed about until both had fallen to the floor. He smiled as he hefted up his drink and drained the last drop of his beer. Setting the empty glass down, he scanned the bar for his mark. His smile slowly faded. His target was no longer in the saloon.

Curry sat still while he pondered what to do. If the gambler had gone upstairs, he was out of reach. If he'd gone outside, it would be to the stables as this saloon was the town's only place that offered a room and a bed. The stables suited Curry just fine; they were an excellent place to corner a man and rob him.

* * * * *

Two pairs of strong arms held Heyes while Rob Jennings stood before him, his arm cocked back for another blow. His fist hit Heyes square on the abdomen and doubled him over. Another blow to his back buckled his knees and he toppled over onto his side in the hay. A boot hooked his arm, pulling him over onto his back. He lay there stunned as two of his attackers pulled his jacket open and started emptying his pockets.

"Here," grunted one, handing a large wad of bills to Jennings. The rancher clumsily opened up the cash and tried to put it in order. "It better be all here," he threatened, his speech slightly slurred.

The second cowhand had come across a large sheet of paper folded on itself. He pulled it open and, puzzled, read it out loud, the dim light from the kerosene lanterns making the words difficult to discern.

"Wanted for train robbery. White male, early twenties. Dark hair, dark eyes," he said, pausing as he angled the paper up to catch the light better, deciding to skim past the particulars in small print. "Re–ward. Hm," he grunted.

The first cowhand stared down at the man in the hay. He leaned forward, pulled his captive's hat away and stared into a pair of dark eyes under a mess of dark hair.

"How much a reward?" he asked, warily.

"Oh. $800. Why?"

"Why? Because we may just be $800 richer, that's why! There any more on the description?"

"That ain't me," Heyes groaned as he started to raise himself up on his elbows.

Jennings delivered a short kick to Heyes' ribs. "Shaddup!" he said, irritated. He was tired of looking at the man's cocky expression all night and it pleased him to see his prisoner in pain now. A sinister new thought occurred to him. "Does it say if he's wanted dead or alive?" he asked with a nasty smile.

In the shadows behind them, Curry made up his mind. He had slipped into the stable unnoticed, the men too busy beating on their victim to see him come in. Anger rose up inside him as he witnessed the brutality on the now defenseless man. Grimly, he watched as they stripped him of the money Jed had been counting on to survive. The kick was all that Curry needed to spur him into action. It was plain the gambler's life was now endangered, and Jed was never one to sit back and ignore cruelty or viciousness.

Curry stepped forward from the darkness. "Hold it right there!" he ordered. "Keep your hands were I can see them."

All turned slowly to see this new intruder.

"Toss your guns and what you're holding on the ground," he continued.

"This is my money," Rob Jennings snarled. "You ain't gonna rob me of this just when I got it back!"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll toss it down and leave — while you still can," Curry threatened, his voice calm.

"Like hell I will," the rancher sneered, reaching for his gun.

Suddenly, all four men were staring down the barrel of a six shooter when the instant before the gun had been in its holster. "Don't try it," Curry said, the deadly threat hanging after his words. "Just toss down your guns and the money. Now."

Stunned, the three men let their weapons drop. Heyes lifted his head to get a better look at the new fellow, wondering if his eyes had played a trick on him or was the man as fast as he thought he saw.

"Good. Now go over to that tack room and git inside," Curry said, following them. He caught the door and swung it around. "Now I want you boys to be quiet, because I don't like a lot of noise. Noise makes me nervous. Kind of twitchy, if you catch my meaning," he asked, cocking the gun.

Their eyes wide, all three men nodded.

Curry smiled. "Glad to hear it," he said, shutting the door and quickly latching it closed.

Very much relieved, Heyes had pushed himself onto his knees and was reaching for the cash when the newcomer walked back in front of him.

"Don't," he warned, pointed the gun at Heyes.

Heyes froze, his hand hovering in mid–air as the gunman swept up the flyer and the bills from beneath his hand.

Heyes sat back on his heels, cautiously keeping his hands in sight. "That's my money, you know," he complained, aggravation bringing a peevish look to his face.

The gunman grinned, bringing a boyish handsomeness to his face that made him appear even younger. "Not anymore it isn't, Mr…." he paused as he scanned the handbill. "Hannibal Heyes," he finished, smiling even wider.

"That's not me," Heyes insisted again. "I was tracking that outlaw, looking to bring him in for the bounty."

"Is that right?" Curry drawled. "Well, that certainly makes more sense than a train robber walking around with his own wanted poster in his pocket!"

Heyes didn't like being poked fun of and was getting irritable. "That would be a pretty stupid thing to do," he agreed, promising himself that if he got out of this, he was going to make Wheat pay for it. "Lucky for me I'm a bounty hunter — not a train robber," he said enunciating clearly. "Those men were robbing me of my poker winnings, and that there money belongs to me," he stated, nodding at the cash.

"Is that a fact," said Curry as he stuffed the bills in his pants pocket.

Heyes stared back at him, powerless to stop this second robbery of his person. How could this be happening to him? It just didn't seem right that a train robber should get himself robbed — and twice, at that!

"All right. You've got my money. Can I go now?" he said, conceding defeat and quite annoyed, but wanting this whole embarrassing incident to be over.

Curry was thoughtful. "Leaving's a good idea. Which gun is yours?"

Heyes wasn't about to reach for it. "That one," he said, nodding to where his piece lay in the hay.

Curry picked the gun up, hefted it and broke the weapon open. After examining it, he snapped it shut. "You keep it in good shape," he said, as he shoved the gun under his belt.

Heyes stared at Curry. "You're taking my gun, too?"

"Yep," agreed Curry. "Your money, your gun and you. On your feet," he ordered, waving his own pistol in the direction he wanted Heyes to go."

Hannibal tried one last time. "I'm not the man in the poster," he said, exasperated.

Curry was getting impatient. "Maybe. Maybe not. I need to think about that, but this ain't a good place for it. Get your horse and let's move."

Heyes was torn. He didn't want to stay in this town any longer either, but he'd rather leave by himself. When he looked into the blue eyes, he saw complete determination. Knowing there wasn't anything he could do about it, he gave up.

"Fine," he said disgustedly. He stood and dusted the hay off his pants. He pointed at roan gelding he was riding. "That's my horse. You gonna take it, too?" he asked sarcastically.

Curry suppressed a smile and gestured to him to start saddling the animal. He leaned back against a stall, watching for any sign of trickery, but saw none. His captive did only what he was told, and that impressed Curry. Heyes may have been crazy enough to carry his own wanted posted with him, but he wasn't foolish enough to try something stupid. If the truth be told, Curry was becoming intrigued. He knew Heyes was a good poker player — either that or he knew how to cheat at cards after all. And he maybe was a train robber (which had to be better than robbing folks singly.) But he seemed too well–mannered to be a desperado, lacking the violence usually associated with that group. He was trying to talk his way out of trouble, which was unusual.

"I might take your horse," Curry finally allowed. "Especially if he's faster than mine."

Heyes stopped and stared over his shoulder at his tormentor. "I think I was better off with the men in the tack room," he said sourly. "They were just after my money."

Curry thought that funny. "It sure don't take much for you to get all grumpy, does it? A couple little set backs and some people just go all to pieces. I'd have thought a train robber would be a little more flexible than this."

Heyes stopped again and sighed. There was only so much he could take. "Listen, kid. I am not a train robber, so I would appreciate it if you'd quit saying I was. That type of thing can ruin a man's reputation."

"Okay, Heyes," Curry said, agreeably.

Heyes stilled, dredging up the last of his patience. He glared at the man. "I can tell you and I are gonna get along just great. You gotta a name, kid?"

Curry grinned again. "Yep, as a matter of fact I do. But you can just keep calling me Kid," he added, as he gestured for Heyes to get on with what he was doing.

Heyes turned and tightened the cinch strap with a tug. "Personally, I'd be inclined to call you something more than that," he remarked testily.

* * * * *

The sun hung like a frosty orb, casting light but no heat as it inched it's way up over the horizon. Heyes scowled as he shoved one gloved hand under his arm, and glanced for the hundredth time at the silent mystery riding beside him. They had ridden quietly through the night, each man alone with his own thoughts. Now that Heyes had had time to think, he had a plan. All he had to do was convince his keeper of its merits, and from where Heyes sat, the plan had a lot of merit. But a lot depended on what type of man his companion was, how smart he was and what his plans where for the future. So far, Heyes was impressed with him. He was fast with a gun, but not inclined to use it foolishly. Brave, too, for it took guts to face down three armed men. He was also larcenous, or he wouldn't have kept Heyes' money. Larceny was something Heyes could appreciate — he had a wide streak of it himself. He had neither threatened Heyes or treated him poorly. Plus, he was inclined to think about the situation and not act rashly. And lastly, Heyes decided he kind of liked him. He appreciated the man's easy–going ways and gentle humor.

Well, the day wasn't getting any younger and it was time to make his case. He reined his horse to a standstill and waited.

Curry motioned his mount into a half turn before he stopped it. Leaning on his saddle horn, he said, "Is there a reason you've decided to stop here?"

Heyes gave him an easy smile. "Let's get down to business, shall we?" he said conversationally. "Are you planning on turning me in at the next town?"

"Are you admitting that you're Hannibal Heyes?"

Heyes shifted in the saddle and tried a different angle. "I think we can do each other a favor," he said earnestly.

"I've all ready done you a favor. I stopped you from getting beat up worse than you were."

"And I'm grateful for that, truly I am. But on the other hand I can't help but remind you that you have some money that used to belong to me. And, I might add, I got a worrisome feeling that you might be considering a visit to the sheriff's office."

"If you were the man on the poster," Curry reminded Heyes, his face deadpan.

Heyes considered Curry for a few seconds, a shrewdly appraising look that unsettled Curry. "What?" he finally demanded.

When Heyes spoke, his voice was deep and serious. "All right, Kid. Do you like to gamble? Well, I do and I'm gonna take a gamble on you. I'll admit to you right up front that I am the man on that poster; Hannibal Heyes — bank and train robber."

"I knew that all along."

"And," Heyes continued over the interruption, "I'll bet you a thousand dollars that I can come up with a thousand dollars by tomorrow morning."

Curry's eyes narrowed. "I ain't got a thousand dollars."

"No, but you can forget about turning me in — that's worth a thousand dollars to me." When it looked as if Curry was going to interrupt again, Heyes held up a hand and cut him short. "If I can come up with the money, it's all yours — that's your incentive."

Curry looked perplexed. "'In' what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just let me prove to you that I'm worth more to you free than behind bars," Heyes soothed.

Curry thought it over for a minute. "You're gonna try to get away, aren't you," he stated.

"No. I truly mean everything I said, and I will give you my word that I will not try to escape."

"Why not?"

Heyes shrugged. "Cause I know this plan will work; it's like money in the bank," he added with a grin.

"And if'n it don't work, Heyes?"

"It'll work. Don't worry." Heyes kicked his horse forward. "Now, all we gotta do is ride quietly into town, get us a hotel room with a hot bath, and buy a nice big meal."

Bemused, Curry watched him ride past. He shrugged. "I gotta admit, it sounds good so far," he said to himself.

* * * * *

Heyes and Curry sauntered out of the hash–house, Curry stopping to arch his back in a stretch. He was warm, clean and had a full stomach. In short, he hadn't felt this good in months.

Heyes nudged him in the ribs. "Let's go, Kid," he said nodding towards the bank.

Curry put a restraining hand on his arm. "Heyes, what are you gonna do?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"Watch and learn." He held out his hand. "You still got my twenty dollar gold piece?"

Not knowing quite what to do and feeling more and more like he was losing control, Curry simply handed over the coin and hoped for the best. Matching Heyes step for step, he walked with him into the bank, trying to mirror his confident, easy manner.

"Wait here," Heyes whispered, gesturing him to stand by the door. Heyes got in line for one of the tellers and cashed in his coin for smaller bills. Turning, he pocketed the money and motioned for Curry to follow him out.

Safely outside and walking across the street to the hotel, Curry hissed, "What was that all about?"

Heyes gave him a lazy, smug smile. "That was just a legitimate excuse to be in the bank. But, I now know what kind a safe they have, and I got a good look at the doors."

"And?" Curry prompted, worriedly.

Heyes shrugged. "And now we go back to our room and get some rest. Maybe later tonight go to the saloon and play some poker."

Curry struggled to make some sense of it all. "But—" he began.

"Just wait and see," Heyes interrupted. "You know, Kid, you sure do worry a lot. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"I only get worried when I don't know what's gonna on," he said, testily.

"All you need to know is that by this time tomorrow you'll be riding down the road a thousand dollars richer than you currently are."

"Great," he muttered without enthusiasm. After a minute, he asked, "Heyes, last night in the poker game; were you cheating?"

"Nope. Didn't need to."

"But you do know how to cheat at cards?"

"Sure," he answered easily. "Knowing how to cheat is the best way to know when others are cheating.

Curry absorbed that bit of knowledge. "So, you must be a pretty good player."

"Fair enough. Why?"

"Well, I've always wanted to be a better poker player."

"That sort of thing takes a lot of time and a lot of practice."

"I was afraid of that."

* * * * *

They had settled in their hotel room with Heyes advising a nap of at least two to three hours. The bed was soft and Curry was more tired than he thought. It was well into the night when Curry was awoken by the door opening and Heyes coming into the room.

"Where, wha…." he started, confused, expecting Heyes to be trying to leave, not to be coming back.

"Relax," said Heyes. "I just went out to get our horses from the stable. They're all saddled up and waiting for us outside the saloon."

Curry digested this. Heyes had been out and about. He could have been hours down the road to the next town by now, but he wasn't.

"Why did you come back?"

Heyes' eyes were dark with an odd combination of sincerity and liveliness. "I gave you my word, didn't I?"

Jed nodded slowly. "That you did," he agreed. "What's next?"

"Well, I don't think we've got time for poker. We should get straight to the bank."

Curry nodded again, feeling a further shift in their relationship. It was strange: this man was technically his prisoner and had been for a full day, but the reality was that only in the last town had he really felt that he had control over the bank robber. Heyes had never shown any fear of Curry, and ever since they had struck that bargain, Curry felt they had become more like equals. As he looked into Heyes' steady gaze, he felt a another shift, and knew they had become a team. He nodded again in agreement, both of the plan and of their new relationship. "Right. Let's get to it, then."

* * * * *

They entered the bank by the back door, Heyes easily picking the lock with a pair of thin knives he produced from his clothing. Safely inside, Heyes drew Curry close. "Don't worry about striking a light; this old safe I can open with my eyes closed. Just stand by the front window and watch for trouble."

"Right." Curry moved off and did as he was asked. He glanced back on occasion and saw by the dim moonlight Heyes crouched in front of the safe, his head pressed against the lock as he worked the tumblers. Within twenty minutes, Curry heard a click and he watched Heyes open the door, a smile of immense proportions beaming from his face.

Heyes motioned Curry near. Pulling out four stacks of bound bills, he tossed two to Curry. "There's your share."

Catching the money against his chest, Curry thumbed the corners to see the denominations. "There's more than a thousand here. A lot more."

"Does it matter?" Heyes asked, grinning.

Curry stared at the wealth in his hands and saw a better future for himself, a chance to live the good life. "No, it don't matter at all."

"Good. Let's get outta here, then. We can be far away before they even know they'd been robbed."

Curry was still staring at the cash he grasped in both hands. He chuckled from pure delight. "I can't believe how easy this was."

Heyes looked proud. "Well, I know I made it look easy, but it takes practice and experience," he said as he stuffed the money in his coat pockets. "Pretty much the same as that fast draw of yours, I would imagine."

Curry moved to the door, opened it a crack and checked to make sure the streets were empty. "You would imagine right, friend." He motioned for Heyes to leave, then followed him out.

They walked slowly to their horses. Heyes was grinning again. "Hey, Kid. Why don't you put the money in your saddlebags?"

Curry didn't see why it should matter, but he followed the suggestion anyway. He was more than a little surprised to find a wad of cloth inside. "What's this?" he asked.

"Open it and find out."

When he unwrapped the heavy object, he held a gun, one of the newest Colts he had seen, double action and beautifully crafted. He stared at it, amazed.

"You like it?" Heyes asked.

Curry nodded his head. "Oh, yeah…." he said, giving the barrel a twirl, listening to the perfectly balanced action.

"Better than that rusted relic you currently use to threaten people with?"

"They're not even in the same class." He looked up over at Heyes, amazed by the thoughtfulness of the gift. "Why? Where?"

"'Where' was the local general store, and 'why' is 'cause you needed it."

"Heyes, I don't know what to say."

"Why don't you tell me your name instead?"

Curry stared at Heyes, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Curry. Jed Curry from Kansas," he said, holding out his right hand.

Heyes grasped the hand firmly and gave it a shake. "Pleased to meet you, Jed Curry. You know, if you'd like to ride with me for a spell, I could teach you poker — maybe even how to tell when someone is cheating at cards. But it'd take awhile."

"I got time, Heyes. I got lots of time." Curry pulled Heyes' gun out of his own holster and handed it over. "I expect you'd like this back."

"Thanks," he said, reclaiming his weapon. "But I'm better at planning than I am with this."

Curry thought about it. "Does that mean you planned all this?"

Heyes' smile was dazzling. "Yep."

Curry swung up into his saddle and waited for Heyes to mount up. His eyes were twinkling as he asked, "If your so good at planning things, why were you walking around with your own wanted poster?"

Heyes' expression suddenly went deadpan. "That's a long story."

Curry smiled. "Like I said, Heyes, I got time."

END

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in one of the You, Me and the Governor zines.


End file.
